


Hiraeth

by Tahoe_Tess_Tudnas



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives Except Bilbo, Bromance, Gen, Maybe - Freeform, One Shot, Timeline What Timeline, myth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 14:40:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5131328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tahoe_Tess_Tudnas/pseuds/Tahoe_Tess_Tudnas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hiraeth, pronounced [hɨraɪ̯θ], is a Welsh word that has no direct English translation. The University of Wales, Lampeter attempts to define it as homesickness tinged with grief or sadness over the lost or departed. It is a mix of longing, yearning, nostalgia, wistfulness, or an earnest desire for the Wales of the past.</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>“Uncle Thorin.” Kili’s voice broke through the grim reminiscing of the dwarves as they glanced up. In the opened doorway, the prince had a rather peculiar look upon his face, body tense and feet shifting his weight as though anxious. </p>
<p>“What is it, Kili?” Thorin grumbled, hoping against hope he had no more demands to listen to that day. </p>
<p>"Uncle . . . there are hobbits at the gates."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hiraeth

**Third Age 2947**

 

He was born on the eve of Midsummer with fireflies in the air and fresh grass rising in the hedges of the Shire. He came to the world screaming and crying. _A strong one_ , the midwives had said knowingly before placing the healthy, baby faunt still kicking into his exhausted mother’s arms. 

 

Tanta Brandybuck-Baggins was so indescribably happy to hold her first child in her arms. Nine months of waiting and after years of believing she would never have children, that perhaps the fertility of hobbits had skipped her for some reason, this was truly the miracle she and her proud but soft-hearted Milo had been waiting for.  

 

“Sarto”, she murmured into his little, pointed ear. “My little Sarto.”

 

The child stopped crying almost immediately, tear-filled eyes – blue, Shire-sky bright blue– trained on his mother’s face as though amazed, then he giggled – his smile brightening up the room as he threw his little fisted hands toward her. Heart feeling entirely too full, she grasped one of his little fingers with tears running down her face. 

 

“What’s that there?” One of the mid-wives asked softly.

 

Tanta looked up, eyes narrowed to where she was pointing. Little Sarto’s fist was still closed, but she could almost spy something within his tiny palm. She grasped his little fingers and pried them loose – he was strong for a little one – while his chubby face scrunched up as though annoyed. She blinked, bewildered for there, lying in her child’s palm as though they had always been were two almost glowing silver beads. 

 

Tanta could hear the midwives whispering and her aunts chatting over the strangeness of the jewelry (Unnatural, that is. Who’s ever heard of a baby born with something in its hand? Where did they come from?)  but all she could see right now was her child’s eyes filled with fear as he desperately tried to keep the odd items close to his chest.

 

They say that mothers know their children best and Tanta felt that understanding hit her like a warm light. With all the love in her heart, she closed his little hand, simply shook her head, and smiled comfortingly at the child. 

 

He giggled at her in sync, clutching tightly at his beads which jangled together like mini bells. 

 

Tanta smiled again, then looked up at the smattering of mid-wives and aunts, all of whom were watching with wary curiosity. She huffed before raising a pointed eyebrow. “Now, can someone bring me my husband? There’s someone I’d like for him to meet.” 

 

Her Aunt Camelia nodded before going toward the back door just as a curly-haired, round well-dressed hobbit strode in.

 

Tanta didn’t even hide her smile, watching as her usually unflappable husband didn’t even acknowledge the others in the room. In that moment, Milo’s eyes were only for her (she could see the crease of worry in the corners, and the strained element in his jaw whenever he was upset though the line of tension in his shoulders relaxed at the sight of her) before they flickered to the bundle in her arms. His eyes glanced up at her, unsure and tentative in a way she had never seen so Tanta just smiled encouragingly.

 

He reached for the child with awe and shaking hands, as the swaddled babe was placed in his arms.

 

“His name is Sarto,” Tanta informed him.

 

“He’s perfect,” Milo nodded, face lighting up as the child giggled and waved its little fist. “He’s meant for something great.”

 

**

**Third Age 2952**

 

“I just don’t know what to make of that child,” Amaranth grumbled, throwing herself into a chair.

 

“Which child, dear?” Mirabella Took, youngest daughter of the Old Took, answered back calmly, gaze never moving from her knitting. Her daughter Amaranth and her husband Falco had seven children. It could be any one of them though they were usually so well-behaved.

 

“Sarto,” Amaranth answered, and Mirabella hid a wince.

 

Sarto Baggins, her late daughter Tanta’s only child, was a conundrum for most of the family, causing quite the bit of trouble, always looking for dwarves of all things, or running around in the Eastern Woods. After his parents’ funeral, he was taking in by Amaranth and her husband’s family, but with seven children already in tow, neither her daughter nor any other could pay much attention to the child.

 

“What did he do now?” Mirabella asked, looking up from her knitting. She had always been protective of her strange grandson. 

 

“He keeps insisting Sarto’s not his name. ‘Bilbo’, he says. ‘My name is ‘Bilbo’,” Amaranth glanced out the window, stewing and failing to notice Mirabella paling slightly. “At first, I thought that perhaps he was playing a game about our poor cousin. In poor taste perhaps but not that unusual given the rumors of what Mad Baggins got up to. But Sarto keeps insisting that that’s his name. I can’t make heads or tales of it.”

 

She looked back at her mother, perplexed. “And yesterday, I caught him in Falco’s study, scribbling on one of his maps. You know the one, leading East all the way to Gondor. Falco was furious and Sarto was forced to bed with no supper.”

 

Mirabella had frozen now, glancing at her daughter with wide eyes. Amaranth didn’t notice, too caught up in her rant. “He hums strange songs at the oddest moments, plays around with wooden swords all the time, and those beads!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. “He keeps insisting those beads are something special. Mintral or mithril or something. Said they made him brothers with some dwarf off in the East. A king of all things.” She sighed. “I just don’t know what to do.”

 

Mirabella paused before standing, striding to the door. “Alright. We’re going to my brother.”

 

Amaranth looked up, confused. “Which one?”

 

“Isengrim,” Mirabella responded, shoving on her coat and boots. Amaranth trailed behind, her brow furrowed.

 

“We’re seeing the Thain now? Why?” she asked. “Do you think he can help us with Sarto?” 

 

Mirabella glanced back, face tight with nerves. “I think he can help us help Sarto.” 

** 

**Third Age 2956**

 

Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King of the Lonely Mountain, rubbed his brow tiredly, drowning out the cacophony of noise in the Great Hall. The councilors were making grumbles about his decision to increase the miner’s wages using the preserves of the Treasury. It was going to be another harsh winter moving forward as Dale was still in the beginning stages of expanding their crop yield. What with the increase of dwarves in Erebor as well as the expansion of Dale as a leading merchant city under Bard’s watchful eye, the demand of food had grown almost to match the currents of wealth flowing through the mountain.

 

It barely tapped at the Treasury’s reserves to increase the miners’ wages so they may stock up more this winter and Thorin honestly could not see what the problem was. From Balin’s rapidly clenching jaw, his Advisor agreed with him.

 

“Enough,” Thorin shouted over the noise, standing to his full height. Immediate silence as the dwarrow of the Council glanced at him. “I have made my decision. By decree, all guilds will increase their wages by 5% using funds provided by the Royal Treasury. Understood?”

 

“Yes, sire.”

 

“Aye, sire.”

 

Thorin nodded, sitting back into his seat. “Good. Now, are there any other issues that should be addressed before today’s meeting is adjourned?”

 

There was an awkward pause before one dwarf – Lord Casdin or something – stood up, looking slightly nervous but grave as well. “I believe we need to address the upcoming anniversary of the Battle of the Five Armies.”

 

Next to his king, Balin stiffened while the other dwarves of the Company present – Dwalin, Fili, Bofur, and Dori - scowled at the Lord. Thorin felt a sharp pain impending near his forehead and barely resisted the urge to growl. “You know where I stand on that issue.”

 

“But sire,” Casdin continued, face pale but determined. He gave a cautious glance at Dwalin before forging on. “This tradition of mourning must end. You and your Company did a great deed that day in securing the mountain and defeating the Pale orc and his army along with the men and elves. Surely, the loss of one Halfling shouldn’t stop us from-“

 

“He is not half of anything!” Dwalin stepped forward with a growl, dark eye flashing under his brow. The Lord paled further, stepping back even as Thorin and the other members of the Company scowled deeply at the interloper. “And that hobbit is the only reason we have the Mountain today. You best be ‘ware of that, and if I hear you insult our friend one more time . . .”

 

He fingered his axes at his side, and Lord Casdin merely nodded warily before sitting down.

 

“We the Royal Family feel no need to celebrate,” Thorin stated, voice deep and decisive standing up with Fili rising next to him. The Lords went silent immediately under the harsh twin glower of Durin’s blue. “We lost many people that day to greed and evil. As with the years past, I will be with my Company and my family to mourn our losses as I recommend others to do the same.” The Lord nodded slowly, sitting back down. “Now, this meeting is adjourned.”

 

The dwarf lords moved quickly out of the Hall. Thorin waited until the last dwarf aside from his sister-son and Company had left then removed his crown allowing it to fall to the table with a heavy clatter. Fili watched his uncle cautiously out of the corner of his eye while the rest of the Company moved to closer chairs to discuss the meeting.

 

“It won’t be the last time they’ll mention it,” Balin commented idly. Thorin’s frown deepened, the lines of his mouth turning down and emphasizing the king’s age. White now peppered his raven locks in greater quantities while the dark shadows under his eyes waxed and waned in the light.

 

Balin wondered what nightmares haunted his king’s sleep now and if they matched his own.

 

“I don’t care what those fancy-drawers thinks,” Bofur growled, his usually happy demeanor soured by the unfortunate reminder as he crossed his arms defiantly. “I for one feel no need to celebrate that day.”

 

“No,” Dwalin agreed, resting a hand on his axe with a frown. “Nor do any o’ the others, I wager.”

 

“We have to consider though,” Balin stated, and all looked to the older dwarf. His mouth formed a grim, determined line which never boded well. “Is it what Bilbo would have wanted? Us mourning him year after year?”

 

At his name, a collective grimace went through the group while Thorin’s expression flashed with sharp pain as was the usual response whenever someone mentioned their late burglar.

 

**

 

_Bilbo glanced around curiously. “Well, this was not what I was expecting.”_

_He stood in a maze of cavernous hallways, filled with intricate stone carvings, each depicting dwarves in all their various histories. For some unknown amount of time, he wandered through a haze, touching the winding stone and feeling a thrum of warmth to stave off the icy cold that covered his jacket and trousers._

_Each archway glowed with torchlight and even though he was in a mountain, a warm, peaceful quality hovered in the air that should have put Bilbo to ease._

_Instead, he put his hands on his hips with a frown. “This is bollocks.”  He wandered up and down the hallways looking for an exit or someone to ask for directions._

_He had no idea where he was or where his dwarrow were but if there was one thing Bilbo was sure of, he was not staying here._

_**_

To outsiders, the Company had come out of the bloody fray rather lucky. In the aftermath of the battle, the dwarves of Erebor had gathered together quickly to recover their brethren – those who had made it and those who hadn’t. Much to their relief, the Ur and Ri families survived with only bruises and a few broken bones to show. The ‘Oin brothers followed their lead with Oin rounding the medical charge while his red-headed brother nursed a nasty concussion.

 

Balin, exhausted but relatively unharmed, had a few long worrying hours before he heard Dwalin’s roar from one of the medical tents. Dwalin – the great brute – had broken one leg, fractured another, and loss the use of his right eye in defending the two princes through the battlefield, both of whom had received their fair share of wounds. Fili would limp the rest of his days while young Kili nearly lost his arm. The scars were well impressive, however.

 

No one though could find Thorin or their burglar. For two nerve-wracking days, men, elves, and dwarves alike scoured the battlefield, fearing the worst but hoping for the best. The Company as well as Bard and Thuranduil surprisingly had been horrified to learn from Gandalf that their littlest member had followed the heirs of Durin to Raven Hill.

 

In the end, it was Legolas, the Mirkwood prince, that stumbled upon an unconscious, wounded King Under the Mountain with no sign of their burglar out on the frozen tundra. After that, it was a fight for Thorin’s life as both elf and dwarven healers with a little help from Gandalf raced to keep the dwarf king from his Maker’s halls.

 

After days of worry and fruitless searches for the hobbit, Balin and Dwalin were the first to see Thorin wake with Bilbo’s name on his lips, and in the sobbing sentences of a broken king, the Fundin brothers were the first to hear of the fate of their burglar.

 

Later on, the story would pass through the tents in hushed tones of awe and sorrow. How Thorin fought against the Pale Orc to a stand still across the frozen lake. How the Pale Orc fell through the ice only to attack from below, stabbing Thorin through his foot before slashing the dwarf through the shoulder. How Thorin on his knees, exhausted and wounded, waited as the Pale Orc rose to deliver the final blow. How out of nowhere there was a rage-filled cry then Azog was forced back from Thorin with a vicious snarl, his throat nearly slit wide open. The Orc grabbed at his invisible attacker and Thorin caught one glimpse of Bilbo, his blue eyes glinting madly and determined as he held his letter-opener aloft between Azog and his prey.

 

Then, like a maddened bull, the wounded orc thrashed out, catching the hobbit in a vice-like grip just as the ice cracked beneath them both. With blurred vision, Thorin could only watch in horror as his hobbit and his archenemy fell into the icy depths below.

 

Upon learning of Bilbo’s fate. Gandalf had aged before their eyes, filled with an ancient sorrow at the loss of his friend while even Bard shed heavy tears over the hobbit’s passing despite the short time of their acquaintance. After months of searching the rivers for any sign of his body, the three races came together and mourned the fourteenth member of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, the little burglar who had snuck in and stole away the hearts of those who met him.

 

A stubborn peace was eventually forged between the elves, dwarves, and men of Dale through hours of deliberating meetings, most of which found a now truly humbled Thorin at the helm, yet even as more and more dwarves of Erebor returned home, it remained a hollow victory for the Company.

 

**

 

_“Hello,” Bilbo cried out, tinny voice echoing off the stony walls. Goodness, it felt like he’d been wandering for ages. He finally spotted a stocky figure walking aimlessly through the haze, a dwarf no doubt. The dwarf paused in his walk, glancing back briefly, and Bilbo rushed to meet up with him._

_Huffing, he smiled sheepishly. “So sorry to bother you.”_

_The dwarf – taller than Thorin with a glorious red beard braided with threads of gold and mithril – was dressed simply in a tunic, trousers, and boots. His eyes were flinty grey like steel or stone and his expression as impassive as the cavernous walls themselves._

_Bilbo swallowed a suddenly dry throat but forged on. “I appear to be a bit lost. I was hoping you could show me the way out.”_

_“And what are you doing in my Halls, Halfling?” the dwarf boomed, his voice deeper than drums and echoing with the endless ring of hundreds of hammers upon anvils._

_Bilblo shrunk into himself slightly before stiffening, indignant. “Well - well, excuse me, I didn’t mean to be here.” The dwarf’s gaze never wavered, making Bilbo incredibly uncomfortable. “In fact, if you show me the way out, I’ll just be out of your hair – “_

_“Don’t you know where you are, Halfling?”_

_“I’m not half of anything, thank you very much,” Bilbo snapped, temper fraying. He’d been wandering forever; he was cold, tired, and hungry; and he just wanted to get back to his dwarrow, dammit._

_“You are dead,” the dwarf continued bluntly as though Bilbo never spoke._

_Bilbo froze, brow furrowing. Then he nodded, gaze cast downward and shoulders slumping slightly with a sigh. “I figured as much.”_

_He remembered the icy, endless cold, his ribs tight and heartbeat stuttering to a stop as he sunk deeper and deeper into the abyss. Not a pleasant end by any means._

_The hobbit shook himself and glanced up into the dwarf’s eyes, back ramrod straight and strong._

_“Nonetheless, I need to go back.”_

 

**

 

“Uncle Thorin,” Kili’s voice broke through the grim reminiscing of the dwarves as they glanced up. In the opened doorway, the prince had a rather peculiar look upon his face, his feet shifting weight as though anxious.

 

“What is it, Kili?” Thorin grumbled, hoping against hope he had no more demands to listen to that day.

 

“Uncle,” Kili paused then forged on, a strange light in his eyes that Thorin couldn’t quite decipher. Judging from Fili’s curious look, his eldest heir felt the same. “Uncle . . . there are hobbits at the gates.”

 

**

 

_“Back,” the dwarf echoed, his face as impassive as ever._

_Bilbo nodded but then realized that this dwarf most likely wouldn’t be of any help. He bowed lightly. “Yes. Good day to you, Master Dwarf.”_

_He moved down another hallway (Yavanna’s bells, did these hallways ever end? Bilbo was never making fun of Thorin’s lack of direction ever again.)_

_He barely noticed when a pair of heavy boots started to follow._

_“And where is 'back', little hobbit?” the booming voice intoned from behind._

_“I’m not that little,” Bilbo muttered, before answering back with a sheepish shrug. “Erebor. I think. I hope at least.”_

_“Erebor?” This time the dwarf strode forward, stopping Bilbo in his path. Bilbo – feeling quite snappish now – simply crossed his arms, glaring up at his obstacle with a tapping foot. The dratted dwarf didn’t even seem to notice, instead glaring intensely._

_“And what does a hobbit have to do with the greatest of the Seven Dwarf Kingdoms?”_

 

**

 

“I still don’t see the appeal of this place,” an older, soft voice commented, lacking the deep, dulcet tones of a dwarf. The hobbits – at Kili’s request – had been placed into the waiting rooms adjacent to the Royal Chambers. Thorin and the members of his Company stopped before the door, each listening to the conversation on the other side.

 

“Come now, brother,” an equally soft, female voice responded. “It’s not our place to judge others for their culture. I’m sure plenty of these dwarves would find our seven meals a day rather strange as well.”

 

“I disagree,” a younger tone piped in. “Nothing wrong with that. Just good hobbit sense if you ask me.”

 

“Yes, well, no one asked you, cousin.”

 

There was the sound of a scuffle before a thud was heard with twin groans. “Now, what did we learn?” a stern, female voice asked, tone filled with the endless patience of a mother.

 

“Don’t fight in the mountain,” the two younger voices recited dutifully if a tad grudgingly.

 

“Good boys. Now, if you want to see the rest of the Mountain, you will be staying put and . . .” the female voice trailed off as though thinking of something. Thorin and the Company held their breath. “Wait, it’s too quiet. Where’s your younger cousin?”

 

There was an awkward pause before one of the lads piped up. “Oh, he left as soon as we hit the gates. Said something about needing to see how the Mountain’s changed and looking for those dwarves of his.”

 

There was a sigh filled with many unnamed curses and migraines. “You let your tween cousin go flounce around a dangerous Mountain?”

 

Thorin shared a frown with Dwalin before Dwalin nodded, reading his king’s mind and wandering off to find a guard. With sanctioned off mines and crumbling archways, the still recovering Mountain was no place for a young hobbit.

 

“. . .well, he’s not really a tween.”

 

There was another thud accompanied by an “Ow!” and Thorin decided he had enough, opening the door and walking in. Immediately, there was a hush across the room and Thorin very nearly froze on the doorstep. Vaguely, he heard gasps behind him from a few of the other dwarves but he hardly had the wherewithal to care, too surprised by his sudden guests.

 

There were ten hobbits in total and by the Maker, if they didn’t all look like their late burglar.

 

Two younger hobbits, one with bright red curls and another with brown, glanced up, their wide blue eyes twinkling with mischief and pointed ears stark against their hair. They looked to be barely out of their maturity. A couple of older hobbits – maybe middle-aged with faint wrinkles around their eyes and mouth – stood in the back, one with a pipe clenched in some teeth and a wry grin while the other had his hands in his waistcoat pocket, both sharing Bilbo’s button nose and cheekbones.

 

Near the fireplace, seated elegantly as they could upon the larger dwarven chairs were three female hobbits, two of which showed signs of age with familiar red-gold curls streaked with white and pinned up, both pairs of eyes flashing brown and green toward Thorin with a startling intensity while the other woman, younger with brown hair braided back, merely gave a soft smile.

 

Finally, three elderly gentlemen sat around the table, nearly identical in their pale red hair, nut-brown skin, and grim demeanor. The only resemblance to Bilbo that Thorin could see was in their eyes, blue-grey and filled with a sparkling intelligence so like their burglar’s.

 

The entire group was dressed for traveling, bearing trousers instead of skirts for the women and thick coats with caps covering their curls.

 

What hobbits were doing so far East, Thorin could hardly guess and his gaping face must have said some of this as one of the elderly hobbits broke the silence and stood up to greet them. This one was slightly different than the others, carrying a certain familiar air of authority. The other hobbits glanced at him, gauging his reaction as the elderly hobbit bowed slightly.

 

“Isengrim Took III,” he said, face expressionless though there was a quirk of his mouth as he continued. “Thain of the Shire at your service.”

 

Balin stiffened in recognition then nudged Thorin out of his shock. Feeling like a dwarfling for the first time in a long while, Thorin bowed his head as well. “Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, at yours.”

 

The Thain’s eyes narrowed at his name, but he quickly moved on, motioning to the two hobbits next to him. “These are my brothers, Isenbard and Isenbold.” Both hobbits bowed, faces just as serious while glancing at the company of dwarves. “And my sisters,” the elderly women stood up, curtsying though their smiles appeared more feral than the others. Thorin repressed a shiver. “Donnamira Took-Boffin and Mirabella Took-Brandybuck. Next to them is Mirabella’s eldest daughter, Amaranth Brandybuck.” The female hobbit curtsied as well, her youthful face soft and smiling if a tad tense.

 

“Behind us are two of my nephews, Flambard and Sigismond Took.” The two brown-haired blokes in the back gave a good-natured bow and a grin.

 

Then the Thain let out a bit of an exasperated sigh. “And of course, we have Drogo Baggins and Adelard Took. Adelard is another nephew, much to my regret, while young Drogo is here as the next head of the Baggins’ family. He was also the only Baggins left willing to journey this far.”

 

Unmentioned went the fact that another Baggins had journeyed equally far and was lost because of it.

 

Drogo – the brown haired one – gave a timid smile ( _so like their burglar when they first met so many years ago_ ) before bowing.

 

“Oi, uncle, that wasn’t very nice,” the red-haired hobbit called Adelard groaned before throwing a cheeky grin at the dwarves with an exaggerated bow. “As he mentioned, Adelard Took at your service. You must be the Company.” He peered around Thorin to look at the other dwarves with a raised eyebrow. “Though I was under the impression there were thirteen of you.”

 

Thorin cleared his throat, walking into the room a bit more and making way for the rest of the dwarves. “Yes,” he rumbled awkwardly, feeling a tad wrong-footed about it all. He motioned to the dwarves at his back, all of whom were watching the hobbits with wide eyes. “This here is Balin and Dwalin, sons of Fundin, my personal advisor and captain of the guard.” Both Fundin brothers bowed at the waist. “Here, we have my sister-sons, Fili and Kili, sons of Vili.” The two cheeky dwarves gave quick bows as well. “Then we have Bofur, Head of the Western Mining Guilds, and Dori, Head of the Weaver’s Guild and renown Tea Merchant.”

 

“Oh, I would love some tea if you happen to have it,” Donnamira spoke up, her eyes twinkling slightly.

 

Thorin acknowledged this with a nod. “I’ll order some right away.” He motioned to a servant that was standing in the corner before turning back to his new guests. “I’m sure it has been a long journey from the Shire.”

 

He tried and failed to keep the question out of his voice.

 

The Thain scoffed settling back into his seat. “Far longer than we thought but manageable. We made it, didn’t we?” He shared a quick grin with his brothers then glanced back at Thorin with eyebrows raised. “Though you’ll forgive me if I’d rather do the talking seated than standing. It was still a bit of a ramble, even with the escorts, and I am but an old hobbit.”

 

“Though _he_ said our trip was a lot easier than when he and the dwarves traveled the Great East Road,” Mirabella piped in, rubbing her hands together as she and the other women stood up to join their family at the long table. “Must be all the dwarven caravans going through.”

 

The hobbits now were all seated at the table and glancing at the dwarves expectantly. Thorin and his Company shared a look of befuddlement before cautiously approaching the long table. Thorin took a seat across from the Thain while the other dwarves warily sat down as well.

 

There was an awkward pause while hobbits and dwarves stared at each other before Donnamira tsked, shaking her red curls. “Well, this simply won’t do.” Thorin and the members of the Company looked at her curiously as she continued. “You better call the rest of your Company, Master Oakenshield. We have a few questions for you all and we best get it over with now.”

 

Isengrim nodded, stormy eyes hooded as he leaned forward. “Adelard and Drogo.” Both boys straightened, looking at their uncle as he nodded toward the door though his gaze never left Thorin’s. “Make yourself scarce, boys. Go find that wayward cousin of ours.”

 

“Yessir.” Then, quick as a whip, the boys shot off and out the door.

 

Balin was the first to gather his wits. “Are you sure that’s wise? The Mountain is a dangerous place for youngsters and we are still recovering from the dragon.”

 

Isengrim shrugged along with his two brothers, leaning back into his chair with a self-deprecating grin. “They’ve barely reached their maturity, those two, and this conversation is for adults mostly. After all,” and here, he met the gaze of every dwarf solemnly. “We were the ones who knew Bilbo best, eh?”

 

**

 

_“I was chosen to be a member of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield. We journeyed for nearly a year to get to Erebor,” Bilbo explained proudly, a warm smile on his face as he thought of his foolish dwarrow. “We were supposed to reclaim it from a dragon, you see, and we did. But then things went . . .” His expression darkened slightly before he shrugged. “Well, things went a little topsy-turvy. I’m hoping it’s all settled now when I get back.” And that my dwarrow are safe, he thought worriedly._

_The dwarf hummed, crossing his arms though his expression had changed from impassive to interested. “You’re dead. How do you think you’ll get back?”_

_“You can stop saying I’m dead now,” Bilbo responded dryly. “I get it. And as for the other bit, well, I am one very stubborn hobbit.” He gave a feral grin and the dwarf blinked before throwing his head back with a laugh._

_“You are at that, I can see,” the dwarf chuckled, the sound causing slight vibrations along the walls._

_“Tell me, little hobbit,” the dwarf continued, a feral grin peaking out of his beard. “What do you know of your Lady’s husband?”_

_But a moment of realization later, Bilbo’s eyes widened in shock as his hands fell to his side. “Lord Aule.”_

**

 

Thorin felt dread building in his stomach, guessing where this conversation could go. The rest of the Company fared little better, their faces pale and grim. Balin’s jaw was clenched with eyes battle-bright while Bofur’s whiskers quivered slightly, his expression shadowed by his hat.

 

Dori stood up shakily, giving a weak smile. “I’ll go gather the rest then, shall I?”

 

Thorin nodded stiffly. “Thank you, Dori.” The white-haired dwarf moved quickly out of the room, the door shutting loudly in the awkward silence that followed.

 

Sighing, Thorin then forced himself to meet the gaze of the Thain. “Is this about reparations?”

 

Isengrim’s head tilted curiously. “Reparations?” The other hobbits exchanged curious glances as well.

 

Balin moved in to explain, his jovial expression diplomatic and earnest. “We realize that what we sent back following Bilbo’s . . . passing might not have been enough. We apologize as we tried to send back more based on his contract however . . .”

 

“Oh,” Isenbard interrupted, tone curious and light. “You mean the mathoms you sent with the letter?”

 

“Mathoms,” Thorin echoed. He remembered vaguely a conversation with Bilbo while they were at Beorn’s house where the hobbit proceeded to call every bit and bob in the Mountain a mathom. He had explained in that wry tone of his that it was the hobbit’s word for gold and jewelry.

 

_“We don’t have much of that, you see,” the hobbit had said with a soft, fond grin curled around his pipe. “Never really saw the point and you dwarves seem to have enough for the two races anyway.”_

 

“Were they not to your liking?” Balin inquired. “We have other items in the treasury and Bilbo was precious enough to us all that –“

 

Isenbold glanced at his brothers cautiously before shrugging, “No, no, the mathoms were very nice, and we thank you for them. We even put them in the Took Hall for visitors to look at.”

 

“But I think,” Isengrim leaned forward. “We can all agree that such shiny things mean little in the light of Bilbo’s death.”

 

The other hobbits nodded solemnly, looking at the dwarves with knowing eyes.

 

Thorin winced, regret and guilt flashing across his face. From behind Thorin, Dwalin moved forward with a scowl before his brother stopped him, gaze never leaving the Thain’s. Fili and Kili – both uncharacteristically quiet – merely looked down, sorrow marring both their features.

 

The dwarf king stood up suddenly, meeting the Thain with intense blue eyes.

 

“Bilbo was our finest and most loyal companion,” Thorin started, voice scratchy and rough. “At first, we did not get along, our cultures and experiences were too different, but in the end, he proved to be one of the strongest, bravest beings I have ever had the pleasure of meeting – and of calling my friend. I am sorry,” Thorin’s voice broke, his head bowed, and for the moment, it was not the King Under the Mountain speaking to the Thain, but a simple dwarf humbled before his companions. “I am so sorry for this loss that you as his family have suffered, but please know that we of the Company and this Mountain feel Bilbo’s loss just as keenly and regret all the more for it.”

 

**

 

_Bilbo stuttered for a moment, apologizing over and over but the Dwarf Father merely waved him off._

_“No worries, lad, you’ve had a bit of a shock.” The dwarf’s eyes narrowed slightly and Bilbo almost took a step back. “You never did answer me. How do expect to exit my Halls?”_

_Bilbo frowned, his brow furrowed as he struggled to think of a way to appeal to the Lord. Instead a thought occurred to him and he glanced up. “Could you tell me whether any of my Company made it?”_

_“Would it change your decision to leave?” Aule asked in return._

_Bilbo paused, grief filling his stomach, but then shook his head. “Perhaps but to have come all this way, to have fought so hard and not reclaim the Mountain, it would be,” he sighed brokenly. “More than I could bear.”_

_The Dwarf Lord eyed him for a moment before sighing. “If it helps, Halfling, they all live.”_

_Bilbo let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, smiling in sharp relief. “That’s good. Oh, that’s so good. So they made it?” Aule nodded cautiously. “Great. That’s great.” The hobbit trailed off, looking lost among the halls as he brought a hand up and touched a single braid bound by two silver beads._

_The Valar made a choked sound, and Bilbo turned to see Aule staring at the beads. If Bilbo didn’t know better, he would say his companion was surprised._

_After a moment of silence, Aule’s stern expression softened slightly. “How about I tell you a story?”_

_Bilbo glanced up, hesitant._

_“One about an odd request that came from my Wife.”_

 

**

 

For a moment, steel blue met stormy grey before Isengrim sighed, a familiar grief echoed in his face followed by the other hobbits. “Sit down, Master Oakenshield.”

 

Thorin sat slowly down. The Thain glanced briefly at his brothers and sisters, eyes soft with a knowing pain.

 

“It wasn’t easy to hear of Bilbo’s death,” he stated and the hobbits all stared solemnly at the table. “He was my eldest sister Belladonna’s only child.” On the side, Mirabella and Donnamira nodded along, eyes watery and smiles tremulous. “We Tooks loved him in our own way, even if he was a dratted Baggins.” The other hobbits chuckled weakly and the Company followed along, well aware of the Baggins-Took feud due to some of Bilbo’s ramblings.

 

“It was quite a surprise when he went off into the blue,” Isengrim continued and the chuckles died down. “’On an adventure’, or so he said to hobbits who caught sight of him running off.”

 

“Always knew he had some of Belladonna’s spirit in her,” Isenbold nodded, eyes distant with a weary grin. “Course never thought he’d have more wanderlust than the rest of us Tooks combined.”

 

“Oh I don’t know about that,” Donnamira interrupted, a soft smile on her face as she glanced at a blushing Amaranth. “The young ones seem to be taking after their cousin just fine.”

 

It was interesting for the dwarves to see the hobbits just interacting good-naturedly despite their grief. Reminded them of Bilbo.

 

“Goodness, was that boy stubborn too,” Mirabelle piped in. “Why, I remember when he came of age just after Bungo passed.” The other hobbit nodded along. “I’ve never seen such a hobbit hold his own against the dreaded Sackville’s in Council for so long and it got quite nasty once they made a run for Bag End.”

 

Isengrim snorted, crossing his arms. “As if I’d let those good-for-nothing Baggins’ take Bilbo’s birthright.”

 

Donnamira patted his shoulder softly. “Oh we know, brother. Still Bilbo did quite the number on that family. I don’t think I’ve seen Otho in the marketplace since and that was after that wild pig episode.”

 

Every hobbit at the table winced collectively while the rest of the dwarves looked on confused.

 

“I’m sure you’ve seen Bilbo’s pranking streak a few times as well,” Flambard leaned forward, pipe still curled in his mouth and puffing. There was a knowing glint in his eye. “He could be a vicious little bugger when he put his mind to it.”

 

“Oh, we know,” Kili piped up, a small smile on his face. Fili nudged his brother as Thorin shot his sister sons a look but Kili just leaned forward, excited to share his tale. “When we were Rivendell, Fili and I just wanted to have some fun with the elves so we set up a pail of honey right outside one or two of the doorways then cut two of their pillows for feathers to come down at the right moment.” The dwarves shared a quick grin over this while the hobbits nodded on encouragingly. “Of course, through one of those doorways, out comes Bilbo with his nose smack dab in an elfish book and next thing we know, we have a hobbit slathered up in honey and feathers.” The hobbits chuckled now. “We apologized but Bilbo just puffed up like a hedgehog and marched off, trailing feathers and honey. We thought that was the end of it.”

 

Fili continued the story, leaning forward with a brighter grin. “’Course we should have known better, and it was quite embarrassing the next morning when I woke up to find my moustache tied to Kili’s hair with knots that would bring a dwarf to shame.” The audience was laughing fully now. “Took us three whole hours of groveling to get Bilbo to undo the knots and let’s just say we were wary of hobbits and their sneaky feet from then on.”

 

Bofur barked a laugh. “Oh, if only I could have seen your faces.”

 

Thorin tried to frown disapprovingly but found his mouth twitching into a fond grin. “How come I never heard of this?”

 

Fili turned to his uncle, eyes twinkling. “Well, Bilbo wasn’t exactly on your good side at that time. I think he preferred to handle things himself.”

 

Sigismond nodded, a soft smile on his face as he shared a look with Flambard. “Bilbo was always like that as a lad as well. Always making his own decisions and going off on his own into the woods.” The dwarves turned to the middle-aged pair now, intrigued. “Bilbo’s about our age, you see. We spent many a year roaming around as tweens.”

 

“He was always the one that was leading the charge against the battalions when we were younger or getting the older kids off our backs,” Flambard continued before sighing. “Of course, after the Fell Winter passed and he lost his father then mother in the same year, he changed a bit.”

 

“And we did as well to be fair,” Sigismond pointed out, hands stuffed in his coat pockets. “Bilbo became more quiet and closed off, retreating into his books and his armchair and Bag End while the rest of us started families of our own. No more time for talks of adventure or going after elves or what not.”

 

“It’s why it came as such a surprise, you see,” Isengrim explained now, older voice soft and wistful. “When we heard rumors of our Bilbo going off an adventure, well, none of us believed it at first.”

 

“We had heard that meddling old codger Gandalf had stopped by Bag End,” grumbled Isenbard under his breath, and he and Balin exchanged a quick grin, sharing the same opinion of Gandalf. “Thought maybe he had cursed the poor bugger.”

 

Mirabella shook her head slightly. “But even a wizard would have had trouble coaxing a hobbit out of his smial.”

 

“So, knowing that, we wondered,” Donnamira continued, her sparking green eyes staring at Thorin intently. “What kind of beings could have coaxed our recluse of a nephew into an adventure?”

 

The dwarves shuffled in their seats, blushing under the hobbits’ knowing gazes.

 

“And even more important,” Isenbold interjected as he leaned forward, tone heavy. “Who could have persuaded our Baggins lad to stay so far away from his home?”

 

“We didn’t persuade anyone,” Thorin barely resisted the urge to growl.

 

“Did you not?” Flambard responded, face disbelieving and crossing his arms even under the glares of the dwarves. “A contract dictating that he would take a fourteenth share of this mountain if this quest succeeded. Appears like a heavy selling tool to me.”

 

Too wrapped up in their own conflicting feelings of guilt and anger, the dwarves missed the knowing glance the Thain shared with his siblings.

 

“Bilbo didn’t even care fo’ that,” Bofur shouted, and the hobbits looked on as the hatted dwarf worked himself into a rant. “I was with him. I heard him. We all did. Over the Misty Mountains, he said he wanted to leave, that he didn’t belong with us,” Thorin winced while the rest looked down as well. “Of course, we never treated him right up ‘till that point but I tried to convince him to stay as part of the Company. Then we fell and lost him for a bit but when he found us again, do you know what he said?” The dwarves grimaced, eyes distant and nostalgic even as Bofur swallowed his dry throat, voice grown soft and broken. “He said that he missed his armchair and his books and that that was home. That was the place he would return to. And we didn’t have one, a home, so he would help us get it back if he could.”

 

Bofur sniffed, his hat bouncing. “We dinnae have to persuade him. He decided to stay hisself.”

 

There was a pause as the hobbits all absorbed Bofur’s heartfelt words even as the other dwarves wallowed for a moment in guilt and sorrow at the loss of their honest and simple friend.

 

“Well, that old man certainly failed to mention that,’ Mirabella commented out of the blue, her eyes filled with tears.

 

Sigismond nodded, arms crossing with a sigh. “It does sound just like _him_ though, doesn’t it?”  

 

“Who is this him you speak of?” Balin interrupted, curious as the dwarves also exchanged glances.

 

“Oh, well, _he_ ’s –“

 

“Alright, alright, we’re all here, stop you’re shoving, you complete and utter mother hen,” a shout interrupted the meeting as the rest of the Company filed through the suddenly opened door, an obviously grumpy Oin leading the charge.

 

The hobbits blinked at the new group and the dwarves blinked back before Gloin shouted. “It’s hobbits.”

 

Flambard snorted. “And more dwarves.”

 

Thorin cut in before they could interrupt again. “My Company, these are some of Bilbo’s kin all the way from the Shire.”

 

The new arrivals gasped, their faces paling before they scrambled to introduce themselves.

 

“Oh, no, let me guess,” Donnamira rose, coming to stand before them. “I’ve been wanting to do this ever since we first heard of you all.”

 

The dwarves paused while the other hobbits merely shook their heads in resignation, settling into their seats. “Now let me see,” she stopped before a nervous Ori fiddling with a book and his sweater sleeves. “Oh, you must be Ori. _He_ said you were the sweetest person he’d ever met with a spine of mithril apparently. You must have shared _his_ love of books for sure.” Ori blushed stammering before Donnamira leaned in with a feral grin. “Of course, we also heard you were a bit sweet on a certain captain of the guard but I won’t mention who.”

 

And huh, Thorin did not know Dwalin’s face could turn that colour, or that Dori and Nori had matching eyes when they glared. Who’d have thought.

 

Donnamira hummed, moving to the next two dwarves with knowing eyes. “And of course, you must be Oin and Gloin, I believe.”

 

The ‘Oin brothers glanced at each other before giving a quick bow. “At your service, my lady.”

 

The older hobbit lass merely nodded back with a grin. “I am supposed to talk to Master Oin apparently about certain herbs to be used for maladies here. We have a few tricks in the Shire and I’d love to hear about your other herbal recipes.” Oin simply nodded back, slightly stunned before Donnamira turned back to Gloin. “And Master Gloin, has your family joined you yet in the Mountain? I’ve heard a lot of your son, Gimli and his prowess with the, um, axe. We hobbits prefer our families all together, you see.”

 

“Oh, yes, my lady,” Gloin stuttered out. “My lad Gimli’s been here since ten years ago.”

 

Donnamira smiled brightly. “That’s great. We would love to meet him.”

 

She moved on, like a queen among her subjects. Thorin glanced at Balin, knowing that his advisor had the same confused look as he.

 

With a slight hum, she stopped before the Ur’ lads, Bifur and Bombur, with a quick laugh. “Oh, you must be Bombur and Bifur,” she stated delightedly, hand near her mouth. “Oh, he described you two perfectly.”

 

The heavy chef and wounded dwarf shared a look, shuffling slightly before Bombur simply shrugged. “Wouldn’t be hard to, miss.”

 

Donnamira leaned forward with a soft smile. “Of course, _he_ also said that you two were the most loyal, friendly companions that a hobbit could ever have. _He_ was pretty impressed with your food, Bombur, and your toys, Bifur. We for one look forward to seeing both of your crafts, if you don’t mind.”

 

Both dwarves blushed wildly as Bifur rattled off something in Khuzdul and Bombur merely bowed out a stammering “Thank you, miss.”

 

She nodded elegantly before landing on the last dwarf who grinned cheekily at her. She matched his grin with glinting green eyes. “And you are Nori, Dori and Ori’s brother. I heard you are quite the clever one with a bit of an interesting hobby for collecting shiny things.”

 

Nori shrugged, grinning. “I got a new hobby now as the King’s Left Hand so your source is pretty outdated.”

 

Donnamira blinked before chuckling. “Well, of course, _he_ is,” she agreed turning away. Thorin didn’t miss the mischievous, knowing smirk she threw her siblings as she settled back into her chair. “ _He_ hasn’t seen you in nearly 15 years. Things are bound to change.”

 

“Excuse me, Miss Donnamira,” Bofur interrupted. The dwarves – now thoroughly confused – all moved around the table to face the hobbits. “Who exactly have y’all been talking to?”

 

“How do you know these things about us?” Ori inquired softly as well, taking a seat next to his brother while still fiddling with his book and sweaters. The rest of the Company looked just as discomfited.

 

It was slightly disconcerting to hear such glowing praise from the hobbits. Thorin personally had been expecting a harsher treatment while he was sure the other dwarves of the Company thought that the hobbits would at least be a little hostile. Instead, there was an almost easy camaraderie in the room as though the hobbits of the West were simply waiting for the dwarves to catch on to some sort of secret.  

 

Isengrim shared a look at his brothers, both of whom nodded before leaning forward. “Let me ask you a question in return,” he started. “What do you know of hobbits?”

 

There was a pause.

 

“They like food,” Bombur stated first, nodding with Bifur and Bofur, “And good cheer and song, and value them more than gold.”

 

“They prefer peace over war,” Balin said, face serious and grim. “And will work to prevent any tragedy from happening even at the cost of themselves.”

 

“They hail from the West in a place called the Shire,” Dwalin dictated, putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder though keeping an eye on the hobbits. “And live in holes in the ground –“

 

“Smials,” Thorin corrected absently under his breath.

 

“- that are cleaner and _nicer_ than any Man’s dwelling we’ve ever had to be in,” Dwalin continued on, glaring at his king.

 

“They are clever and quiet,” Nori interjected, sharing a glance with Ori. “With bare feet to sneak undisturbed into even a dragon’s den.”

 

“They have impeccable manners,” Dori said, looking pointedly at Nori. “And share a love of good tea and the simple moments.”

 

“They’re loyal to a fault and often have big families,” Gloin added his two cents with a nod to Oin. “With green thumbs to help grow and nurture the land.”

 

“They’re great at pranks,” Kili laughed, shoving at his brother, “with keen eyes for hunting when we needed it.”

 

Fili nodded along, looking at his uncle. “They forgive easily and love even more so.”

 

“They are stronger than they look,” Thorin continued. “Far stronger than I ever gave them credit with the heart to match even the mightiest of warriors and the greatest of friends.”

 

The hobbits blinked, slightly taken back by such forthright praise before Isengrim continued, his elderly face slightly flustered. “Yes, well, that’s all very well and good. The reason I asked is because I wanted to see how much you knew of our origins.”

 

“It is said that you are descendants of Men,” Ori stated dutifully, having asked often enough of Bilbo. “You came initially from the East, from the Valley of the Anduin River, fleeing an unknown power in the beginning of the Second Age and wandering until you found a haven next to the River Baranduin which was later names the Brandywine.”

 

“Very good,” Isengrim grinned. “Though not complete. Bilbo probably shared that little tidbit with you but not all. It’s supposed to be a secret for our race, but considering the circumstances, I find myself willing to divulge a little.”

 

The dwarves exchanged curious glances before the Thain took a breath and continued. “We are descendants of Men. That much is true. Though when and why that happened, no one truly knows. What is not mentioned, not even in books or histories, is the fact that we were given to the Mother Yavanna or rather Yavanna adopted us shortly after we started our Wandering Days. She found that our care for the green and growing things of Middle Earth mirrored her own love for the plants and animals of the world. After she created the Ents to protect the forest, she realized she had overlooked the smaller creatures and sought to rectify it through us. We accepted, finding favor with the Lady Mother, and thus, under her watchful eye, for the past Age, we have done so diligently.”

 

Isengrim paused momentarily to look at his spellbound audience before continuing. “Of course, we hobbits had descended from Men, the Second-born, and are likewise unwelcome in the Land Out West or the halls of your Maker. Upon our deaths, we could not join our Lady Mother after our time here in Arda, and we would exist forever apart from our Lady. For years, this caused grief for our Lady with no promise of another life and no way to comfort the hobbits left behind.”

 

Ori had barely looked up from his scribbling and even Thorin held his breath, wondering where this tale would lead.

 

“So, our Lady Mother asked a favor of her husband, Aule. ‘Please, my lord husband,’ she pleaded before him. ‘Please allow my hobbits a chance. Just one chance to perhaps come back to Arda and to soothe the grief of their loved ones.’ Aule, moved by his wife’s sorrow, agreed. ‘Before your hobbits move from this plane to the next, they will stand here before me and should they choose, plead their case to return.’” Here, at this part in the story, the hobbits grinned slowly, nodding to each other.

 

“’Should I find their cause worthy, they will be reincarnated and life for them will go on.’ The Lady agreed at once and informed her hobbits of the gift bestowed so graciously. And thus the myth has been passed from generation to generation as a promise, a reward given to us by our Lady Mother and her Lord Husband, at the end of our toiling years.”

 

**

 

_“So the legends are true then,” Bilbo whispered, awed. “I always thought the Old Took was pulling our legs as fauntlings.”_

_Aule nodded graciously before glancing at the hobbit expectantly. “So?”_

_Bilbo blinked up at him, still slightly dazed by the revelation. “So what?”_

_The Valar sighed, bringing a hand to pinch his nose as though_ Bilbo _was the frustrating one. “So will you plead your case to me?”_

_“Oh,” Bilbo contemplated, looking down the stone halls and architecture. He thought long and hard about what to say, etching deep into his knowledge of dwarrow. An idea formed in his head and he grinned playfully at His Lady’s husband._

_“How about I tell you a story in return?” Bilbo started, encouraged when he caught sight of a knowing glint in the other’s eye._

_“Oh?” Aule stated, sitting down upon a bench and patting it beside him. Bilbo took the offered seat graciously, fumbling with his belt a bit as he thought of how to start his tale._

_Eventually he shrugged, settling into his seat and glancing at his audience. “Well, it begins as you might expect for in a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit . . .”_

 

**

 

The dwarves blinked at the end of the story. Balin shook his head slightly amazed. “So what you are saying is that hobbits have the ability to be reincarnated?”

 

“Like Durin the Deathless?” Ori whispered, tone soft with awe.  

 

Isengrim nodded as the dwarves started to mutter amongst themselves. “We do. Though the last hobbit hadn’t reincarnated in many, many years. We thought the ability lost or the myths false for the longest time. After awhile, the story was passed simply from Thain to Thain as a rite of passage and a way to remember a long ago age.”

 

“We should have paid more attention the Old Took at that,” Isenbold snorted.

 

“Wouldn’t have taken us nearly so long to realize,” Isenbard agreed, nodding.

 

Donnamira chuckled. “I do believe that even we fanciful Tooks found reincarnation to be a tad bit unbelievable.”

 

“Please,” Flabard joined in with Sigismond nodding. “If anything was unbelievable, it was the fact that little Bilbo somehow faced a dragon and stopped a war between three races.”

 

“Really, when you think about it, it’s amazing that’s all he did, the stubborn little lad,” Mirabella joined in, smiling.

 

“Wait,” Thorin stated, voice loud and insistent. The dwarves quieted and he turned his blue eyes to the Thain, frowning with the old remnants of anger stirring in his stomach. “Do you mean to take us as fools? Reincarnation is simply a myth.”

 

The dwarves’ expressions darkened but the hobbits merely glanced at each other, an odd array of emotions flashing across their faces before Isengrim leaned forward, expression open but defiant. “If that were true, then why do you think we are here?”

 

“How do you think I’ve heard of all of you?” Amaranth chimed in, her eyes glinting oddly. The younger hobbit lass had been quiet in the corner but now Thorin could see the stubborn lilt of her chin mirrored in her mother. “Your Quest has been considered the greatest of this Age and retold time and again but it doesn’t tell us that two princes once fooled a hobbit into stealing from a Troll’s purse. Hoot once like a barn owl, right?”

 

Fili and Kili paled rapidly, mouths agape even as the other hobbits piped in.

 

“Or that Bilbo once named his elven letter-opener Sting after those horrid spiders taunted him in Mirkwood.”  Dwalin and Balin exchanged a worried glance with their king. That had been not included in the songs or the tales. Not even Gandalf knew.

 

“Or that at Rivendell, you all broke up the furniture and made a campfire – “

 

“With Bombur breaking the table.” Bombur’s face turned an interesting mix of pale and red, while Bofur choked back his tongue.

 

Isembard leaned forward, eyes stormy. “Tales of your quest do not tell us that once long ago, in the living room of Bag End, you sang of home and loss, and coaxed a lonely middle-aged hobbit out of his smial into the world beyond.”

 

“Gandalf could have told you all of that,” Thorin stated gruffly though a niggling doubt in his mind lingered.

 

Isengrim hummed, nodding. “That is true. Gandalf even was generous enough to escort us East though he is hosted by Bard of Dale as of right now.” His voice lowered here and at his next words, all of the hobbits straightened in their seats. “Should I instead name what Bilbo gifted you with in that final day before the battle, King Under the Mountain? And what you in turn gave to him?”

 

Thorin’s face drained of color, his heart thudding deep in his chest as he collapsed into the back of his chair. The other dwarves looked curiously at their king whose wide blue eyes never left the Thain’s.

 

Isengrim ignored the lost look upon Thorin’s face, instead standing up and striding forward. “He brought with him an acorn from Beorn’s lands, gifted to you to remind you of the simpler things in life and perhaps break you from the gold's madness.” Thorin’s hand absentmindedly touched the pocket of his left breast. “You in turn named him brother and gifted him with two beads from your family line hours before you marked him a betrayer and cast him from this Mountain.”

 

“Enough,” Thorin roared, standing up shakily with a voice both broken and wet. Fili and Kili stifled gasps while Dwalin and Balin rose to stand next to their king. The other dwarves did little better, faces flushed and expressions pained. “Do you not think that I am aware -?” Thorin choked off, dragging a hand across his face. “Why are you doing this? What do you have to gain from this?” 

 

Isengrim stopped in front of the king, his head tilted up slightly even as his voice softened like a teacher to a humbled student. “I’m sorry” he stated. “I know it’s painful. But we had to be sure, you see.”

 

“Bilbo passed away here,” Mirabella explained softly, ignoring the full-body wince each dwarf gave at her statement. “We wanted to make sure. There were rumors about you dwarves, not too nice ones in fact, that you were the cause of Bilbo’s death.”

 

In the background, Ori choked back a sob while the rest of the dwarves made no movements to protest, their jaws clenched tight and gazes turned downward. Mirabella frowned and Donnamira stood up now to stand next to her brother. “We know better now,” she stated, smiling softly, encouragingly when a few of the Company glanced up. “You loved him - and _still_ love him obviously. This little talk of ours has shown us that.”

 

“And love for us hobbits, it’s,” Isenbard shared a grin with his brother. “Well, it’s important if a hobbit is to find his home here.”

 

Kili sniffled, rubbing his nose for a moment. Thorin’s head remained bowed, his expression lost behind a wave of silver-black locks while Fili glanced curiously among the hobbits before asking. “What – what do you mean by that?”

 

The Tooks shared a mischievous grin, so reminiscent of their Bilbo so long ago. As one, they glanced toward the door right just as it opened to reveal of weary-looking Drogo and Adelard, clothes disheveled and hair eschew.

 

“We found him, Aunt Donna,” Adelard groaned. He and Drogo had a struggling something – or someone – caught between them. A few of the dwarves started to rise, each trying to catch of glimpse of it.

 

“Come on, Addie,” a tinny voice whined, and all dwarves froze at the all too familiar voice. “I need t’go find my da’row. They have to be 'round here somewhere.”

 

For Thorin, there was a ringing in his ears, his thoughts halted and mind quiet as a still lake as though experiencing some sort of shock. With stilted movements, he raised his head, glancing toward the opened door.

 

Drogo sighed, looking down at the smaller being. “If you had just waited, you would have met them with the rest of us.” 

 

The Company blinked rapidly, not believing the sight of a familiar crop of red-gold curls bouncing when a little head whipped up and back for a moment, wide grey-blue eyes flashing up to his cousin’s face excitedly.

 

“You’ve met them?! Where are they? Where are they?”

 

The dwarves couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, all afraid that this apparition would disappear if they did.

 

“Oh, love,” Donnamira sighed, though her eyes sparkled with excitement. The other hobbits were little better, flashes of happiness, satisfaction, and excitement across every face. “Look around you.” 

 

As if in a daze, Thorin stood slowly, heart beating in his chest like a Durin drum with his blue eyes widening, unable to comprehend who stood before him.

 

Because there was no doubt in any one of their minds that this small child with flushed cheeks, pointed ears, and mithril-bright eyes was their own Bilbo Baggins.

 

With the nervousness that belied his age, the child found his feet, staring at the dwarrow in complete silence before a wild grin etched his face, a flash of mischief in his eyes as he straightened his shoulders and wagged his fingers at them.

 

“You lot showed up un’xpected and ate my food last time,” he stated with all the authority of a youngster, throwing up an impish grin. “’Thought it might be my turn now.”

 

Dwalin barked a startled laugh, breaking the stalemate and striding forward to sweep the small hobbit into a hug as he roared. “Master Baggins!”

 

That was all it took for the rest of the dwarrow to surge forward, disbelieving smiles and grins spreading like wild fire as they pushed past the others toward the little hobbit, tears streaking down their faces.

 

Bilbo – their Bilbo – chattered to each dwarf happily, his own eyes nearly wet with tears as he threw his arms around Fili and Kili then shared a forehead bump Balin and Dwalin. The Ur brothers caught him up next, Bifur chattering in Khuzdul and bumping his forehead softly with Bofur plopping his favorite hat upon his head, face nearly split from grinning. Dori shakily pulled the little hobbit into a hug, fussing over his little weatherworn tunic, tears running down his beard.

 

The other hobbits were soon caught up in the excitement as well, the lads sharing shoulder punches, one-armed hugs, and wild grins while the ladies had tears of joy streaming down their faces with soft, wide smiles.

 

Thorin was the only one that hadn’t moved, locked in a battle of emotions as he fought the urge to run forward but his guilt, his uncertainty, his shock held him back.

 

Eventually, the celebration died down when Bilbo noticed Thorin standing apart. He wiggled away from Gloin’s fierce grip to hop down on the ground before running to halt in front of the dwarf king.

 

Thorin almost startled back and all present went silent, tension rising with each moment as familiar grey-blue met a wide Durin gaze. Bilbo – of course, it was Bilbo, he was always so brave, so strong – looked contemplative, eyeing the king seriously before stating, “Gandalf says you’re not angry at me anymore.”

 

“I’m not,” Thorin immediately choked out, bending – or perhaps collapsing – to one knee to stare into the little one’s eyes. “I promise I am not.”

 

“You hurt my feelings,” Bilbo said bluntly, biting his lip and Thorin winced but forged on, lips trembling.

 

“I did and I am sorry. I am so sorry for all the pain I caused you. You were – are a true friend, Bilbo, and you will forever be welcome here in Erebor’s halls.”

 

Bilbo smiled back, nodding happily. “That’s good, that’s good. So, can I still keep these then?” He reached in and pulled a necklace from his shirt with two familiar beads hanging off them.

 

Thorin reached up with shaking fingers to catch sight of Durin’s crown and a Raven’s wings etched by his own hand into each piece of mithril. If ever he had doubted before . . .

 

“Oh Bilbo,” Thorin chuckled brokenly, tears streaming down his face as he pulled the acorn from his breast pocket, watching with a sharp, painful sort of joy as the little hobbit’s face brightened like the sun. “So long as I may keep this in return.”

 

The hobbit hiccupped suddenly, tears streaming down his grinning cheeks to match the King Under the Mountain. He ran forward and Thorin opened his arms to sweep him into a tight hug, relishing in the familiar smell of earth and sunlight. “I missed you, Thorin!”

 

“And I you, little one,” Thorin rumbled, barely able to form the words. Through his tears, he could see the other dwarves standing around them in a tight circle, their faces a lit with a joy that hadn’t been seen in years. He hugged the hobbit tighter, closing his eyes.

 

And for the first time, in a long while, the King Under the Mountain felt at home.

 

**

 

_“So I need to be with them, you see,” Bilbo finished, smiling when he saw the look of satisfaction on the Dwarf Lord’s face. “Because they became home to me.”_

_A comfortable silence grew between both dwarf and hobbit, each lost in their thoughts._

_Then Aule sighed deeply, glancing at the hobbit._

_“Aye lad,” he rumbled, a soft grin spreading under his beard. “That was a fine tale and I think it’s about time the Durin line shared in some joys as well.” He stood up, his eyes and beard glowing with an unnatural forge fire as he leaned forward and placed his forehead upon Bilbo’s brow. Bilbo closed his eyes, relishing in the familiar scent of metal and stone._

_“Have a safe trip then, my Lady’s child,” the voice rumbled and all faded to darkness._

_**_

 “Husband,” a lilting voice broke through Aule’s thoughts.

 

He glanced up with a soft smile, watching as his lovely, sweet wife glided to him, a matching smile on her face. Little flowers trailed behind her and grass grew beneath her feet. Such an affront from any other Valar in his Halls would have him roaring, but she was his and his alone.

 

“My wife,” Aule responded, taking her into his arms, before they both glanced down into the silver pool where tableware and food flew through the air in a chaotic, rehearsed manner while thirteen dwarves and one little hobbit burst into a familiar song.

 

“That was a kind deed you did, love,” Yavanna murmured into his ear. He hummed in response.

 

The hobbits were red-faced and merry with the dwarves even more so as endless mugs of mead passed from hand to hand, clapping each other on backs and sharing soft smiles when a little hobbit lad clambered onto the lap of a dwarf king and stole his crown.

 

“Perhaps,” Aule responded. The dwarf king with a smile flashing beneath his beard caught the burglar and hoisted the newly crowned lad up onto his shoulders, the rest of the dwarves toasting to their little hobbit prince with a happy roar.

 

With a grin, Aule pulled his wife closer, snuggling her close to him. “But I learned from you after all. Love is what makes a home in the end,” his gaze turned one more to the little hobbit lad with bright eyes and a brighter grin, “And what better way to make a Mountain a home than to return its Heart.”

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Definition for Hiraeth is found here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hiraeth
> 
> Thoughts? Feelings? Ideas? Share them please.


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